Figuring It Out Together
by ChrisCalledMeSweetie
Summary: "So, being emotionally intimate makes you want to be physically intimate?" "Yes." "Okay. And, uh, how far are you interested in going with that?" (A story in which there's a first time for everything...)
1. What If I Want To Kiss You?

**Chapter 1 — What If I Want To Kiss You?**

"John?"

"Hmm?"

"How do you know you're not gay?"

"I fancy women, Sherlock."

"How do you know you fancy them?"

"I find them attractive. I enjoy being with them. I _like_ them. "

"But how do you know that you don't just appreciate them aesthetically? And enjoy their company? And like them as friends?"

"If you want to kiss someone, you don't just like them as a friend."

"What if I want to kiss _you?_ "

"Then I think you should."

There was a beat of silence.

"But you keep saying you're not gay."

"I never said I was straight."

When one has eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how mad it might seem, must be the truth. Sherlock had to know the truth. With a look of determination on his face, he gave John a quick, chaste peck on the lips.

Before Sherlock could process the sensation, John surged forward, wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, and pulled him down for a kiss that was anything but chaste.

It was actually happening. After seven years of wondering about it, dreaming about it, and trying not to think about it, this was finally happening. Sherlock's eyes flew open, and he took an abrupt step backwards. "You kissed me!"

"Well, to be fair, you did kiss me first."

"Yes, but that was just an experiment to test whether or not I'm attracted you. Which I — apparently — am. But I didn't think you felt that way about me."

"Not such a genius after all, then. I've wanted you since we first moved in together."

"But why did you never say anything?"

"Because you're my best friend, and you told me you were married to your work, and I didn't want to ruin our friendship."

"John, nothing could ruin our friendship. You should know that by now."

"I hope you're right."

"Of course I'm right. Now shut up and kiss me."

As John complied, however, Sherlock felt a sudden burst of shyness. He pulled away.

"Are you okay?" John asked.

"Of course. It's just that this is all new to me."

"It's new to me, too. I've never actually been with a man before."

"But you've been with women. You have experience. Unless it was for a case, I've never even kissed anyone before today, let alone done anything else. I just don't know if I'm ready for all of this."

"Sherlock, look at me," John said, placing a hand on his cheek.

Sherlock flushed at the unfamiliar contact, but despite his embarrassment, he felt himself leaning into John's touch.

"There is no _'all of this'_ except what you and I create together. We never have to do anything that we don't both want to do. We'll figure it out together, okay?"

"Okay."

"So, may I kiss you again?"

Sherlock nodded his assent, and tentatively met John's lips with his own. At first, his brain went into overdrive, cataloging temperature, pressure, and a dozen other variables. Soon, though, with John licking hungrily at the edges of his lips, Sherlock began to lose focus. He parted his lips slightly and allowed John to deepen the kiss.

As John began exploring Sherlock's mouth with his tongue, Sherlock moaned and fisted one of his hands in John's hair. With his other hand, he grabbed John around the waist, pulling their hips together. The second he felt John's erection press against his own, though, Sherlock gasped and shoved John away.

John released him. "Too much?"

"Sorry," Sherlock said, trying to catch his breath. "This really isn't my area. I just need to cool off for a minute, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," John said, and Sherlock noticed that he was panting slightly, as well. "I really wasn't trying to push you into anything, I promise."

"It's not your fault. I just got a little carried away."

Then, hearing his own words, Sherlock chuckled and said, "Well, I guess it _is_ your fault that I got a little carried away, but you know what I mean."

"Yeah. No problem."

"So, can we take that from the top? But maybe with a little less tongue?"

"Sure," John said, moving back in to give Sherlock a restrained brush of lips.

"I didn't say _no_ tongue," Sherlock complained.

"You're so demanding," John teased. But he made up for it a second later by giving Sherlock a kiss that was just right.

 **End Notes:** This story has not been beta'd or Brit-picked. If you notice any errors or Americanisms, please let me know.

There will be a total of 15 or 16 chapters, the first 12 of which I've already written. I'll be updating on Wednesdays and Saturdays.

 **Please review! :)**


	2. Trying To Make Up for Lost Time

**Chapter 2 — Trying To Make Up for Lost Time**

They had a case. That should have been a good thing, but John had been acting jumpy and strange all day, casting surreptitious glances at Sherlock over dead bodies, then staring pointedly away when caught. Ordinarily, Sherlock would have known instantly what was bothering him, but where John was concerned, Sherlock's powers of deduction had completely deserted him lately.

Once they'd successfully wrapped things up, Sherlock was hoping for a quiet evening relaxing together in the flat. Tiny alarm bells began going off in his head, however, when John approached him with a serious expression, asking, "Can I talk to you about something?"

"Of course," Sherlock said, trying not to let the worry he was suddenly feeling show in his voice.

"You know how we've been best friends for seven years?"

"Yes…"

"Well, there's something I've never quite told you, in so many words. And I know it might make you uncomfortable, but I feel like I need to say it now."

"John, it's okay," Sherlock said, as calmly as he could, while a million worst-case scenarios flitted through his mind. "You know you can tell me anything."

"Sherlock, I love you."

"What?"

"I love you."

"Wait – that's _it?_ That's your big thing that you had to tell me? I was all prepared for you to confess that you were a serial killer, and you wanted to wear my skin as a coat, or something. I love you, too, obviously."

"You love me too?"

"Don't be an idiot. Of course I love you, John."

"But, Sherlock, I think I'm falling _in love_ with you."

"Oh. Good. I seem to be falling in love with you, too. Now shut up and kiss me."

…

The floodgates were open. It may have taken them seven years to get around to professing their love for each other, but once Sherlock said those three little words — the first time in his affection-starved life he'd ever said those words to anyone — he didn't seem to be able to stop. Every few minutes he kept pulling away from their kisses to say, "I love you."

At first, John seemed overjoyed. He responded to Sherlock's every declaration of love with one of his own. Eventually, though, it became too much, even for him. The next time Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, John cut him off with, "Let me guess? You love me, right?"

When Sherlock nodded at him, smiling, John said, "So I've heard. Over and over. And so I've said back. Over and over. And it's true. But come on, Sherlock. When you say something too many times, the words stop having any meaning. It's like leaving a song on constant repeat, until it becomes just background noise."

"You're right," Sherlock agreed sheepishly. "I guess I was just trying to make up for lost time."

"Sherlock, there's no such thing as lost time. Everything that we've said, and everything that we've done, and everything that we've been through, has brought us to where we are right now. And where we are right now is exactly where I want to be. So seriously, shut up and kiss me."

…

The following evening, after Chinese takeaway and crap telly, Sherlock lay on the sofa with his head in John's lap.

"John?"

"Hmm?"

"I don't think I'm gay."

"Oh, so you're bisexual then, like me."

"No."

John's hand, which had been idly stroking Sherlock's curls, stilled. "Oh. Uh, I always wondered if you were asexual. Which is totally fine. We never have to go further than kissing, if you don't want to. We don't even have to kiss, if you're not into it. I promise I'll never pressure you."

"Oh, do keep up, John. I'm obviously attracted to you. Even you can't possibly have failed to observe that."

"I'm lost. Can you back up a few steps? You're not gay, and you're not bisexual, but you _are_ attracted to me, so what am I missing?"

"Well, I was curious about the fact that I've never been attracted to anyone else, so I did some research. According to the internet, I'm demisexual."

"Which means?"

"As a prerequisite to sexual attraction, I need to form a close emotional bond with someone. Which is why I've only ever been attracted to you."

John took Sherlock's hand. "So, being emotionally intimate makes you want to be physically intimate?"

"Yes."

"Okay. And, uh, how far are you interested in going with that? I meant what I said about not pressuring you."

"I don't know. This is all rather overwhelming, and I don't seem to be able to think clearly. Your hand in my hair feels good, though."

"Right. We'll start with that. And if you want something else, you'll let me know, okay?"

Sherlock hummed his agreement, and John resumed his stroking. As John's fingers carded through his hair, Sherlock asked himself _What are you so afraid of?_ When he couldn't come up with a better answer than _I don't know,_ he gathered his courage and forced himself to speak. "Would you like to sleep in my bed tonight?"

"Just sleep?"

"Yes."

"I'd love to."

 **End Notes:** If you're enjoying this story, I'd love to hear from you. Please review **. :)**


	3. I Promised I Wasn't Going To Push You

**Chapter 3 — I Promised I Wasn't Going To Push You**

Sherlock had never shared a bed with anyone before. He'd never seen the appeal. The body's troublesome need for sleep was bad enough without adding an extra person to the equation. So why had he invited John into his bed?

It was perplexing but undeniable: Sherlock wanted to be close to John. They'd become emotionally close; now he wanted to be emotionally closer. They'd become physically close; now he wanted to be physically closer. Where would it end?

Whether because he had reservations about being with a man for the first time, or out of concern over Sherlock's inexperience, John seemed to be determined to let Sherlock set the pace. Which would have been all very well and good if Sherlock had any idea how to do that. He didn't. His own desires were baffling.

What was this longing to crawl inside John's skin? He was afraid it was a bit not good. When he'd worried, the previous day, that John might confess to being a serial killer who wanted to wear Sherlock's skin as a coat, had he been projecting his own twisted yearning? Was there something wrong with him?

Sherlock lay perfectly still, waiting for John to fall asleep. Then he cautiously inched closer and closer, until he could press his chest against John's back. John hummed a little and shifted still nearer. Was this okay? Sherlock felt hyper-aware of his own body. His heart was pounding. Was his breath tickling John's neck? Where should he put his hands?

Once John's breathing had settled back into an easy cadence that signalled he was deeply asleep, Sherlock stopped worrying so much. However, slumber still eluded him. Lying there with John just felt so _good_.

Finally, toward morning, Sherlock fell into a fitful sleep. He awoke when John slipped out of his arms and went to the loo. Embarrassed to have been caught in the act of cuddling his unconscious — _what? partner? boyfriend?_ — Sherlock rolled over and curled himself into a tight ball.

Soon John returned and slid back into bed, wrapping himself around Sherlock. "My turn to be the big spoon."

Oh. So this was okay, then. Sherlock sighed in relief, snuggling back into John's warmth. "This feels good."

"It really does, doesn't it?"

Sherlock interlaced his fingers with John's and brought them to his lips. John hummed contentedly and pressed a kiss to the back of his neck.

After a few minutes, Sherlock rolled over onto his back and John snuggled against his chest. They lay quietly like that for a while, and Sherlock was just beginning to doze off when John asked, "Is it okay if I kiss you?"

Sherlock was caught off guard by the question. "You kissed me yesterday without asking. Why would you need to ask today?"

"Well, we've never kissed lying down before. And I know that you want to take things slowly, and I promised I wasn't going to push you, so I just thought I'd better check."

"It's fine, John," Sherlock said, smiling.

John kissed him, tentatively at first, and then with more warmth. Sherlock returned the kiss, a little surprised to discover that it really did feel different to be doing this lying down.

He was startled by the sound of his phone, signalling a text from Lestrade. Sherlock sighed and forced himself to get up. _"Saved by the bell,"_ he thought.

…

The following evening found Sherlock and John cuddled back up together on the bed. This time Sherlock took the initiative, leaning over John and bringing their lips together. John reached up, pulling Sherlock down on top of him.

Sherlock sucked in a sharp breath, and John looked at him questioningly. "Is this okay?"

"Um, yeah…um, just…um, you know…um…" Sherlock stammered, as all of the blood rushed away from his brain, leaving him incapable of forming a complete sentence.

"Yeah, I know," John smiled, bringing their lips back together.

Sherlock hesitated for a moment, then kissed him back passionately. This time, when his phone buzzed, Sherlock wanted to hurl it across the room.

…

By the time they'd solved the case, Sherlock was ready to explode. He and John had been sleeping cuddled together every night, and he didn't know how much more of this he could take. Each morning, it had been getting harder and harder for him to drag himself out of bed to head to the Yard.

Now, with the case behind them, Sherlock could turn his whole focus toward his boyfriend. Yes, that was the word. All those years ago, John had asked if Sherlock had a boyfriend. And now, the answer was _yes_. Which was more than fine, by the way. It was perfect.

Sherlock moaned as John nibbled across his neck, fisting his hand into John's hair. His hips involuntarily bucked up as John sucked hard at a spot just below his ear. Feeling John's erection pressing against his own, Sherlock found that he couldn't remember why he'd wanted to take things slowly.

What had he been afraid of? This was John. He loved John. He trusted John. And right now, he _wanted_ John.

With a growl, Sherlock flipped them over, pinning John beneath him. He seized John's lips in a fierce kiss, grinding his hips down boldly. John gasped in surprise, then returned the kiss with equal passion. Soon, both men were rocking rhythmically together. Sherlock could feel tension coiling within him. He dropped his head against John's neck, panting.

Suddenly, John grabbed Sherlock's hips with both hands, holding him still. "Sherlock, are you okay?" he asked, voice rough and low, but sounding concerned.

"Yeah."

"Sherlock, you're shaking."

"What?"

"You're shaking," John repeated, "and I think you're hyperventilating."

Sherlock realised with a jolt of surprise that it was true. His whole body was trembling uncontrollably. His lips were numb, his fingers were tingling, and he couldn't feel his feet. He tried to take a steadying breath, and felt the hot sting of tears in his eyes. "Sorry," he choked out, embarrassed.

"Shh," John soothed, scooting partially out from under him and pulling Sherlock's head down against his chest. "It's okay. There's nothing to be sorry about. You know we never need to do anything you don't want to, right?"

"But I _do_ want to. So what's _wrong_ with me?"

"There's nothing wrong with you, love. Weren't you the one who told me that just because you want something, that doesn't necessarily mean you're ready for it?"

"Yes."

"Well, something's telling me you're not quite ready for this. And it's okay. I'm not in any hurry."

"You're not angry?"

"Of course I'm not angry," John said, squeezing Sherlock more tightly and placing a kiss on his forehead. "I love you. And I'm happy just to lie here holding you."

Snuggled up next to his boyfriend, with his head pillowed on John's chest as John slowly ran his fingers through his hair, Sherlock gradually felt his quivering ease and his breathing return to normal. "Would you stay here with me tonight?" he asked.

"I'd love to."

 **End Notes:** Do you like Green Eggs and Ham? If so, check out my new little one-shot: _The Sherlock in the Hat_.


	4. What Counts as Loss of Virginity?

**Chapter 4 — What Do You Think Counts as Loss of Virginity?**

Something shifted inside Sherlock as he slept wrapped in John's arms that night. A tiny part of himself that he'd never consciously acknowledged – the part that believed that John would leave him if he saw Sherlock at his most vulnerable – dissolved in the ocean of John's acceptance and love.

Sherlock woke up early the next morning, feeling refreshed. He slid carefully out of bed, trying not to wake John. A few minutes later, Sherlock returned from the loo to find John smiling sleepily up at him.

"Where'd you go?"

"I needed to use the toilet. And I wanted to brush my teeth."

"Hmm, good idea."

While John was in the bathroom, Sherlock slipped back into bed. He nuzzled down into his pillow, breathing in the scent of John's shampoo. When John returned, Sherlock lifted the edge of the duvet, inviting John to join him.

John slid in beside Sherlock, kissing him on the tip of his nose.

"Good morning."

"Mmm. Good morning."

"What did you want to do today?" John asked. "If it clears up, I thought it might be nice to go for a walk in Regent's Park."

"I'm not thinking that far ahead," Sherlock replied with a gleam in his eye. "Now that I've got you back in my bed, with fresh breath and everything, I'm in no hurry to get up."

"No argument here," John said, snuggling closer.

An hour later, they were still in bed, trading lazy kisses. Sherlock was reminded of an American expression he'd come across on one of his cases: _slow as molasses_. That's how he felt right now – as though his body was slowly melting, sticky and sweet, into John's.

When he found himself once again on top of John, he began rocking his hips languidly down. Feeling John pull away from their kiss, Sherlock opened his eyes to find John gazing up at him in concern.

Before John could ask, Sherlock reassured him. "It's okay. I'm ready for this. And I know that, if at any point I feel like it's too much, I can just tell you and we'll stop. So don't worry, okay?"

"Okay."

Sherlock brought their lips back together. He could feel John smiling. He smiled, too, gently sucking at John's lower lip.

John moaned and brought one hand to Sherlock's arse, shifting slightly so that he could pull their hips more tightly together. Sherlock thrust down against him, revelling in the way John arched up to meet him.

As the heat built between them, Sherlock lost track of John's hands, John's mouth, everything but John's erection as it rubbed so tantalisingly against his own through the thin fabric of their pyjamas. John tensed beneath him and then bucked up sharply as both men came with a cry.

Sherlock collapsed on top of John, laughing.

"What's so funny?"

"I can't believe we just did that."

"Why not?"

"I don't know, it just struck me as funny."

John looked at him, then burst out laughing, too.

Soon both men were rolling around on the bed, giggling like schoolboys.

…

John made breakfast. After they had been eating in companionable silence for a few minutes, Sherlock asked, "What do you think counts as loss of virginity?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you know, for straight people it's the whole penile-vaginal intercourse thing. But if there are two men, there's obviously no vagina involved."

"Obviously."

"So, what counts as sex? Does oral-genital contact count? Or does there have to be penetration? Or is it just any time two people have an orgasm together, or what?"

"I think everything counts."

"So, does that mean I lost my virginity this morning?"

"Well, I guess you get to define that for yourself. For me, having never been with a man before, I'd say yes, I feel like I lost my virginity with you this morning. But that's just one kind of virginity."

"Explain."

"Well, I feel like any time two people experience something together that they've never done before, then they're losing their virginity to each other."

"So then every time we try something new, we lose our virginity all over again?"

"Yeah. Doesn't that sound like fun?"

 **End Notes:** Hmm… What other new things do you think they should try together? Write me a review and let me know. :)


	5. We've Never Done Anything Like That

**Chapter 5 — We've Never Done Anything Like That Before**

Returning from their latest case, Sherlock and John stumbled into the flat, high on adrenaline and reeking of the skip where they'd discovered the crucial bit of evidence.

Sherlock draped his wrists loosely around John's neck. "Have I told you lately that I love you?"

"I love you, too," John said, tipping his head up for a kiss. "But you stink. Do you think I could talk you into taking a shower with me?"

"Hmmm…. We've never done anything like that before."

"Nope. We're shower virgins."

"So this is another one of those 'losing our virginity together' moments that you were talking about?"

"Yep. If you want it to be, that is."

Sherlock hesitated for a moment. For some reason, this felt like a big step.

Sherlock knew that he was in a process of self-discovery, and one of the things he was learning was that, although he didn't have to worry about John pushing him sexually, he did have to be careful not to push himself. So he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to gauge how he really felt about this before giving John an answer.

"I'd like that," he said at last.

John beamed at him, taking his hand and leading him into the bathroom. Sherlock began to feel a little self-conscious. " _This is ridiculous,"_ he told himself. _"You've been to Buckingham Palace in nothing but a sheet. Why on earth would you mind having John see you naked?"_

John, apparently free of such inhibitions, immediately began stripping off his filthy clothes. Sherlock wasn't sure where to look. He solved the problem by pulling his own shirt over his head, effectively blocking his view of John's body. Then, sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, he bent down and stared steadfastly at the floor as he removed his shoes and socks before standing up to remove his trousers and, finally, his pants.

Meanwhile, John had turned on the water, and was testing the temperature with one hand. Finally satisfied that it was to his liking, John stepped into the shower, holding out his hand to help Sherlock in after him. His touch was casual and friendly, and Sherlock felt himself beginning to relax. He dared a glance at his boyfriend's naked body.

Given that they'd (kind-of – Sherlock really wasn't sure how he defined everything yet) been having sex, he guessed that it was odd that he hadn't seen John naked before. But up until this moment, all of their encounters had been fully clothed: cuddled up together in their pyjamas, just letting their bodies do what came naturally. Now, giving himself permission to look at last, Sherlock was pleasantly surprised by what he saw.

Dragging his eyes back up, he found John smirking at him. "You were totally just checking me out, weren't you?"

Sherlock grinned back. "Maybe."

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Do I pass inspection?"

"You'll do."

John flicked a wet flannel at him. "You are such a git!"

"Hey!" Sherlock said, grabbing the flannel and wrapping it around the back of John's neck to bring him closer, "you'd better watch your tone if you want to have any chance of getting lucky here, Captain."

"Oh my god," John said, eyes abruptly dilated and voice dropped low. "Are you serious? I thought I was lucky enough just getting you to agree to a platonic shower together. You mean we're actually going to get to _do_ stuff, too?"

"We'll see," Sherlock replied, suddenly coy.

"Okay, well, now you're just a git _and_ a tease."

"Admit it – you love it."

In an instant, John's mood changed from playful to serious. "I do love it. And I love you."

"I love you, too," Sherlock said, pulling John in for a kiss. He quickly took stock of the situation. He was naked. With John. In the shower. He sensed definite possibilities here.

"If you wash my back, I'll wash yours," he offered.

John immediately grabbed the bottle of citrus-scented bath gel and lathered up a flannel. "Turn around," he ordered.

Sherlock was quick to comply. Now that he'd started this, he could feel a blush creeping into his face, and he was glad not to have to look John in the eyes.

John began at his shoulders, rubbing circles with the soapy flannel before gradually working his way lower. Sherlock leaned into his touch, his whole body craving more. But John seemed reluctant to push his luck, stopping when he reached Sherlock's lower back and handing over the flannel. "Your turn to do me," he said.

Both men turned around under the spray. Adding a little more bath gel to the flannel, Sherlock began to stroke it up and down John's back. John hummed contentedly, and Sherlock stepped closer, pulling the flannel out from between them. He reached around to the front, holding John against him with one arm while running the flannel across his chest. The touch of John's warm, wet, naked body was intoxicating, and Sherlock could feel himself growing hard.

Setting the flannel – and his inhibitions – aside, Sherlock began to explore John's body with his hands. He ran his fingertips along his boyfriend's clavicles, examined his scar, then swept down over his pectoral muscles, before tracing around his nipples. John shuddered against him, breath hitching.

"Is this okay?" Sherlock asked.

"This is _so_ okay," John answered, leaning his head back onto Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock kissed his boyfriend's outstretched neck, allowing his hands to continue their exploration.

As he gradually worked his way lower, Sherlock thrilled at the sense of power he had, feeling John's muscles quiver under his touch and hearing his ragged breaths, punctuated by little moans. Taking John's cock in his hand, he began slowly pumping up and down.

"Oh my god," John gasped, "Please don't stop!"

Sherlock had no intention of stopping. He stroked faster, clutching John hard against his chest. John thrust forward into his hand, his hips stuttering as he came. Sherlock stroked him through his orgasm before gently turning him around and pulling him into an embrace.

John half-collapsed against him, and Sherlock staggered a little, supporting his weight. He kissed frantically at the side of John's face where it was buried against his shoulder. John took a few more shuddering breaths before tipping his head to return the kisses.

"That was unbelievable," he breathed. " _Please_ let me return the favour."

Sherlock smiled. "Well, since you asked nicely."

John kept one arm around him, stepping back slightly to give himself room to run his other hand down Sherlock's abdomen to his aching cock. Sherlock had half a second to marvel at how different it felt to have John's hand wrapped around him than his own, before all conscious thought was driven from his head.

John's grip around his cock was firm and confident. He gave a few tugs before swiping his thumb over the head, causing Sherlock to cry out in pleasure. John brought their mouths back together, kissing him deeply as he quickened the pace with his hand. Sherlock barely had time to register what was happening before he felt his orgasm overtaking him. He clung to John as he came.

"Unbelievable," he agreed.

 **End Notes:** If you've read this far, I'm guessing you're enjoying this story. So, if you haven't yet written a review to let me know, now might be a good time to do so. Hint, hint… ;D


	6. Best Boyfriend Ever

**Chapter 6 — Best Boyfriend Ever**

John thrust his hand into his trouser pocket and fumbled around with a perplexed expression on his face.

"Problem, John?"

A crafty look came into John's eyes. "I'll bet you a back rub that you can't deduce what's in my pocket."

Sherlock was equal parts intrigued and suspicious. "Is there really something in your pocket, or is this a trick question?"

"I really put something in my pocket this morning, and there's really something there now."

"Fine. You've got yourself a bet."

Sherlock snapped into deduction mode. This should be simple. The trouble was, when it came to John, Sherlock just couldn't seem to think straight. A childish voice in the back of his mind giggled at that unintended pun, proving his point. Sherlock sighed.

Closing his eyes, he replayed the day in his mind. He and John had been together all morning, except when John had gone downstairs briefly to see Mrs. Hudson. She must have given him something. _Oh — that was it!_

"I know what's in your pocket. Mrs. Hudson's recipe for scones."

"Nope," John said triumphantly. "I did put it in my pocket this morning, but I took it out and left it in the kitchen while you were in the loo. Now the only thing in my pocket is my hand. You owe me a back rub!"

"Not fair! I asked you if it was a trick question."

"And I answered you honestly. I _did_ put something in my pocket this morning, and there _is_ something there now. Time to pay up."

"Hmph!"

"Ah, the thrill of victory," John gloated.

"More like the thrill of being a cheater," Sherlock shot back.

"But I _am_ going to get a back rub, right?"

"Yes," Sherlock relented, "you _are_ going to get a back rub, even if you don't really deserve one. And do you know why?"

"'Cause you're the best boyfriend ever?"

"Got it in one."

 _Boyfriend_ — what a silly term for a relationship between two grown men. But for some reason, Sherlock felt inordinately pleased to think of John as his boyfriend. It seemed to fit both the playfulness between them and the ways in which Sherlock felt so young and inexperienced in this whole area. He had to remind himself that John was inexperienced, too, when it came to men. They really were figuring this out together.

John led Sherlock to the bedroom, where he stripped down to his pants and lay on top of the duvet. Sherlock straddled John's waist and began to knead his shoulders. John let out a sigh and relaxed under his touch.

Sherlock gradually worked his way down John's back, varying his touch from gentle caresses to deep pressure, and revelling in the pleased little noises his boyfriend was making. He scooted back until he was sitting against John's arse, so that he could reach his lower back. As Sherlock rolled his knuckles into the tight muscles there, John let out a low moan. Sherlock could feel himself growing hard.

Leaning down over John's back in a way that pressed his erection into the curve of his boyfriend's arse, Sherlock kissed the back of John's neck, murmuring, "Is it okay if I move a little lower?"

"Mmmhmmm," John smiled, tipping his face up for a kiss. Sherlock obliged, before shimmying himself down John's back, rubbing his throbbing cock against John's arse for a tantalising moment. He forced himself to sit back on his heels, coming to rest on John's thighs.

Sherlock leaned forward and brought his hands to John's shoulders, sliding them slowly down until they came to rest on his arse. He slipped his fingers under the waistband of John's pants, and John obligingly lifted his hips so Sherlock could slide them off.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have a magnificent arse?"

John let out a bark of laughter. "Now, who would have told me that, other than you?"

"Uh, anyone who's seen this magnificent arse."

John snorted, and Sherlock brought both hands to the arse in question, squeezing at the firm flesh.

John swivelled around, coming to rest on his back. He brought his hands up to grip Sherlock's shirt. "Off."

"You want me to get off?"

"No – yes – that's not what I meant…"

"John, you're babbling."

John grinned up at him. "I meant that I want your clothes off." Sherlock nodded, and John swiftly removed his shirt. "And then I don't want you to get off _of_ me, I want you to get off _with_ me."

Sherlock could feel himself flushing as he hastily scrambled out of the rest of his clothes. The moment he'd kicked his legs free of his pants, John reached up and dragged him down into a kiss.

Sherlock moaned, letting his body sink into John's embrace. He realised with a slight thrill that this was yet another thing they'd never done before – lying together naked, his weight pressing John into the bed. The feeling of John's hard cock, snug against his own, trapped between their overheated bodies, sent little jolts of pleasure coursing through him.

Sherlock's hips began to move of their own accord, grinding down against John, who lay writhing beneath him. John clutched reflexively at Sherlock's arse, finally finding his rhythm. They surged together, panting into their kiss.

Sherlock pulled his lips away from John's as he came, biting his boyfriend's shoulder. John thrust up against him a few more times before his own orgasm struck.

Cradling the back of Sherlock's head, John rolled them over and resumed their kiss. Sherlock felt breathless, boneless, and blissfully content. He barely had the energy to kiss John back, passively allowing his boyfriend to lick into his mouth, smiling against his lips. He loved the sensation of John's body covering his own, solid and real.

John finally broke the kiss and lay his head down on Sherlock's shoulder. "Best boyfriend ever," he sighed.

 **End Notes:** Sherlock may be the best boyfriend ever, but you could earn the title of Best Reader Ever if you write me a review. :)


	7. Are You Trying To Woo Me?

**Chapter 7 — Are You Trying To Woo Me?**

Sherlock had never before found any use for romance, unless it was to help him solve a case. Now, though, he had a boyfriend. And John was surprisingly romantic.

In the beginning, John had confined his demonstrations of affection to their flat, but on their latest case there had been a subtle shift. He was particularly attentive to Sherlock all week – complimenting him more than usual on his brilliance, finding excuses to brush up against him at crime scenes, and showering him with gentle kisses whenever they were alone.

By the time they'd wrapped things up, Sherlock had begun to feel like John was engaged in some sort of old-fashioned courtship ritual. As they sat in a taxi heading away from New Scotland Yard, John magically produced a cluster of seedless red grapes and popped one in Sherlock's mouth.

"John," Sherlock asked, gazing at him fondly, "are you trying to _woo_ me?"

"Maybe… Is it working?"

Sherlock laughed. "Well, I'm certainly not complaining. But you really don't have to try so hard. You've already _got_ me."

John shot a glance toward the cabbie and then murmured conspiratorially, "I want to blow you."

It was a good thing that Sherlock had already swallowed his grape, or he would have choked on it. He spluttered, "R-r-right now?"

John smiled at him, but his eyes were dark and serious. "No. Tonight. If you'll let me."

"Yes."

Sherlock didn't know how he made it through the rest of the cab ride. His body was thrumming with excitement. He kept expecting John to leer at him, or to make some sort of suggestive comment, but his boyfriend remained as chivalrous as he'd been all week.

"Let's go to Angelo's," John suggested. "I want to have a date night with you."

How could Sherlock refuse?

Angelo seated them at the window table where they'd first dined together, all those years ago. This time, when he brought them a candle, John said, "Thanks. That'll make our date more romantic."

It was the first time John had acknowledged their relationship publicly, and Sherlock was surprised by how pleased he felt. _Here I am,_ he thought, _on a date, with a man who wants the world to know it._

Although Sherlock wasn't particularly hungry, he had to admit that having dinner out together was a good idea. He'd been in a state of heightened alert ever since he heard John's shocking words in the taxi, flitting between eager anticipation and a strange sort of nervousness. Now, picking at his food and sipping his wine, he felt his tension gradually ebbing away. He placed one hand on the table, and John gave it a reassuring squeeze.

Back in the flat, John took a shower while Sherlock emailed Lestrade a few final notes on the case. Sherlock could hear the water running for a lot longer than usual, and was beginning to feel impatient by the time John finally emerged.

Once he, too, was clean, Sherlock came out of the bathroom to find John dressed in pyjamas, using two fingers to type his latest blog entry. Glancing up, John quickly set the laptop aside and walked over to wrap his arms around his towel-clad boyfriend. "Mmmm… You smell good."

"You mean I don't smell like I've been rummaging through a skip, like I usually do after a case."

John nuzzled under his ear. "No, I mean you smell _really_ good."

"Come here," he added, taking Sherlock's hand and leading him to the bed. "Can we lose the towel?"

Sherlock nodded, tossing the towel over the back of a chair. He pulled off John's sleep shirt, but as he reached for the waistband of his boyfriend's pyjama bottoms, John grasped his hands, stilling them. "I wanked in the shower," he admitted nonchalantly. "I want tonight to be all about you."

Sherlock found himself temporarily speechless. John pulled back the duvet and patted the bed, inviting him to lie down. Once Sherlock was stretched out on his back, John lay down next to him, leaning on one elbow. Brushing a stray lock of hair away from Sherlock's forehead with a fingertip, he said, "I want to kiss you all over."

"Be my guest."

John began by kissing Sherlock's forehead, then his closed eyelids. He kissed the tips of Sherlock's nose and chin, before working his way up Sherlock's jaw to his sensitive earlobe, which he nibbled at teasingly. He moved down the side of Sherlock's neck, alternating his kisses with gentle nips. Sherlock let out a pleased little hum.

John continued down Sherlock's neck to his clavicle, tonguing the hollow above it, before sliding his lips to Sherlock's shoulder and scraping his teeth lightly over his skin. He worked his way gradually down the outside of Sherlock's arm, lifting it up as he went.

When he reached his boyfriend's hand, John kissed the tip of each finger, then slowly drew one into his mouth, swirling his tongue in a way that made Sherlock gasp. Looking up from beneath his eyelashes, John asked, "Is this okay?"

"Mmm hmm."

John sucked on each finger in turn, and Sherlock's cock twitched in vicarious pleasure. He began letting out breathy little moans as John kissed up along the inside of his arm, stopping to tongue at the crease of his elbow.

Reaching Sherlock's armpit, John grasped his boyfriend's hand and placed it down on the pillow over his head, giving himself better access. He nosed into the soft hair there, making Sherlock squirm. Relenting, he released Sherlock's hand and began kissing his way down his side.

John continued on along the outside of Sherlock's hip and leg, scooting himself down on the bed until he reached his foot. There, he gave his toes the same treatment he'd given to his fingers. Sherlock's feet tended to be ticklish, but the sensual way John was moving his tongue caused him to moan rather than giggle.

John began to kiss and nibble his way up the inside of Sherlock's leg. When his boyfriend reached his inner thigh, Sherlock drew in a sharp breath in anticipation. John simply transferred his attention to the opposite thigh, however, beginning to work his way back down to his other foot.

Sherlock let out a groan of mixed desire and frustration as John repeated all of his actions in reverse on the other side of his body, finally making his way back up to Sherlock's face. Sherlock grabbed him hard and pulled him into a desperate kiss. "You're killing me here," he panted.

"I'm just kissing you," John said innocently. "You did say I could kiss you all over, right?"

"Oh my god, you are seriously going to kill me."

John winked at him. "At least you'll die happy."

And with that, he resumed his mission. He kissed his way down Sherlock's throat to his chest, then slid his tongue over to one nipple. Sherlock cried out in surprise at the sharp jolt of pleasure that coursed through him. John raised his head to smile up at him, then lowered it again to lap at the hard little nub. Sherlock began writhing beneath him, fisting his hands in John's hair and pulling him away. "Oh my god," he cried, voice strained, "why does that feel so good?"

"I don't know," John answered, pushing his head up into Sherlock's hands. "Can I try the other side?"

"Yeah."

John nibbled his way across Sherlock's chest, swirling his tongue around the outside of his nipple before flicking lightly at the tip.

"Ungh," Sherlock breathed out, as John flattened his tongue, pressing Sherlock's nipple firmly into his ribs. "Fuck!"

"Sherlock Holmes! Language."

"I had no idea… this was even… an erogenous zone… for men… Do you even know… what you're doing to me? It's so intense…"

"I'm kind of getting that impression," John said with a devilish grin.

"Do it again."

John wasted no time in complying. Sherlock could feel himself falling apart under John's tongue as his boyfriend traced a path from one nipple to the other and back again, before sliding down to lick into his navel.

By the time John reached his throbbing cock, Sherlock was out of his mind with need. He barely had time to register _'hot – wet – amazing'_ before he was coming hard in his boyfriend's mouth.

Once he could speak, Sherlock panted out "Sorry."

"Hey, no, why would you be sorry?"

"Because I came in three point six seconds. That has to have been the longest build-up to the shortest actual blow job in history."

"But did you enjoy it?"

"Obviously."

"Well, then, mission accomplished!"

 **End Notes:** Did you enjoy this chapter? If so, mission accomplished. ;)


	8. Conducting a Little Research

**Chapter 8 — Conducting a Little Research**

Over the years, Sherlock's cases had required him to research medical topics ranging from _Hendersonula toruloidea_ as an agent of mycotic foot infection, to the half-life of radioactive lenalidomide in semen. He shouldn't have been surprised, therefore, when a current case brought him to the Columbia University health services website _Go Ask Alice_. He was a bit flustered, though, when John came up behind him just as he was clicking on a Q  & A link labeled _Fingers... and other items in the bum — Safe?_

"Conducting a little research?"

"It's for a case, John."

 _"_ _Right…"_

"It is!"

"Okay. But maybe after you've solved it, we might revisit this site. I saw a couple of other topics I wouldn't mind reading about."

…

It didn't take long for Sherlock to figure out whodunnit, nor did it take long for John to snatch the laptop away from him and carry it into the bedroom.

"Come on. I think we need to do a little more research."

"Fine," Sherlock said, mock-resignedly. "You read it out loud, then."

John — in one of his playful moods that Sherlock not-so-secretly adored — read one topic after another, putting on various accents and funny voices, until both men were rolling around on the bed, laughing uncontrollably.

When they finally stopped to catch their breath, Sherlock turned to John, suddenly serious. "You know, I'm glad to be learning about this stuff, because I think it's good information to have. But honestly, I don't know if it sounds like something I'd be comfortable actually doing."

"Sherlock, you know we never have to do anything you don't want to. And look, it says right here ' _Not all gay men have anal sex_.' So it's not like the Gay Sex Police are going to come and take away your membership card if it's not something you're into."

"But is it something _you're_ into? Because I don't want you to feel frustrated, or like you're not getting what you need out of our relationship."

John set the laptop aside to take both of Sherlock's hands in his own. "Sweetheart, look at me," he said, voice low and earnest. "I love you. Nothing's going to change that. All I need out of our relationship is to know that you love me back. And that has nothing to do with whether or not you ever want to fuck me in the arse, or have me fuck you."

"Wait – you'd be okay with me topping?"

"Sherlock, I told you — I don't want you to do anything you're not comfortable with. But yeah, I'm open to trying anything with you. Why? Have you been assuming it would have to be the other way 'round?"

"Um, yeah," Sherlock admitted. "And it seems a bit frightening. Not that I don't trust you, because you know I do, completely. I'm just afraid that it would be awkward, and uncomfortable, and that I wouldn't enjoy it… And then how could I possibly want to do something to you that I wouldn't want you doing to me?"

"Sherlock, sweetheart, I know it doesn't seem like it when we're in bed sometimes, because we're so close, but we _are_ two different people. We're not always going to like the same things, or want the same things. And that's okay. When you think about 'doing something to me,' all you need to care about is whether it's something you'll enjoy doing and I'll enjoy having you do. It doesn't matter whether you're ever going to want me to reciprocate or not. I just get off on making you feel good, and I hope you feel the same way."

"Oh, god, I _so_ do."

"Well, then, do you think that topping is something that might make you feel good?"

"Can I think about it and get back to you?"

"Of course."

…

Sherlock woke up the next morning to the feeling of John kissing the nape of his neck. He snuggled backward into his boyfriend's embrace, bringing their linked hands up so that he could brush his lips across John's knuckles. They lay together quietly, feeling each other's heartbeats.

John was just drifting back to sleep when Sherlock whispered, "You know that question you asked me last night?"

"Hmm?"

"About whether I thought I'd enjoy topping?"

John's eyes flew open, and he was instantly awake. "Yeah," he answered in a low voice.

"Well, I've been thinking about it."

"And?"

"And I think I would. Enjoy it." Then he added quickly, "I don't mean right now. But someday."

John laughed softly against the back of his neck. "I think I could have figured out that last part on my own, given the fact that you didn't even feel comfortable _reading_ about it."

Sherlock laughed, too. "Well, I didn't want to deprive you of the chance to use your amusing accents. But seriously, I just don't know if that's something I'm ready for yet. I'm open to the possibility, though. Eventually."

"Well, you can probably guess how I feel about that," John said, and Sherlock snorted, wiggling his arse back into his boyfriend's obvious erection.

"Good to know."

 **End Notes:** Yes, the website _Go Ask Alice_ actually exists, as do all of the links I mentioned. If you're interested, go do a little research. **;)**


	9. Bet You're Glad I Was Paying Attention

**Chapter 9 — Bet You're Glad I Was Paying Attention**

"Remember that back rub you gave me last week? Well, if you asked nicely, I might be willing to return the favour…"

Sherlock leapt up from his chair and wrapped his arms around John's neck. Gazing directly into his boyfriend's eyes, he purred, "Pretty, pretty please, with a cherry on top?"

John gave him a flirty look. "Whose cherry?"

Sherlock winked back. "We'll see…"

John pulled off Sherlock's pyjama top, lowering his head to kiss along his clavicle. Sherlock tilted his head back, exposing the long column of his throat. Accepting the invitation, John nibbled his way up, tonguing over the slight ridge of his Adam's apple. Sherlock gave a pleased hum, stretching his neck even further. John kissed up under his chin, then worked his way along the underside of his jaw, alternating his kisses with little nips. When he reached Sherlock's ear, he whispered, "Let's take this to the bed."

Sherlock wasn't going to argue with that. He quickly flopped onto his back, pulling John down on top of him.

"It's going to be kind of hard to give you a back rub in this position," John teased.

Sherlock wriggled around under him, managing to roll over onto his stomach. John sat up, straddling his thighs, and tugged at the waistband of Sherlock's pants. "May I?"

Sherlock lifted his hips in answer, and John slid his pyjama bottoms down, catching hold of his pants to pull them off, too. He sighed as John leaned forward, bringing his hands up to Sherlock's shoulders and kissing the back of his neck. As John began working his way gradually down his back, Sherlock could feel himself melting under his boyfriend's strong hands and warm mouth. When John began rolling his knuckles into his tight gluteal muscles, Sherlock let out a long, low moan. He squirmed, grinding his hard-on into the mattress.

Sherlock was startled by a light slap on his arse, as John ordered "Roll over." He swivelled around, coming to rest on his back.

Reaching his hands up to clutch at his boyfriend's short hair, Sherlock tugged John down for a kiss. John came willingly, bringing their bodies flush together, and using his full weight to press Sherlock into the bed. Sherlock allowed himself to get lost in the sensation, parting his lips for John's eager tongue.

As the heat built between them, John pulled away. Sliding down Sherlock's body, he brought his hands to his boyfriend's clavicles. Then, flattening his fingers to keep his nails away from the pale skin, he dragged his hands down Sherlock's chest, digging in hard with the pads of his fingers. Sherlock felt himself involuntarily arching up into the touch. His abdominal muscles contracted sharply as John continued down, finally coming to rest on his hips.

Looking up from beneath his lashes, John asked, "Is it okay if I try to make things last a little longer this time?"

Sherlock hummed his assent, unable to form a coherent sentence. He felt John's mouth sink over his cock, and bucked helplessly as John's hands continued to anchor his hips firmly to the bed.

John hadn't been kidding about making this last. Every time Sherlock felt himself getting close to coming, John would change things up. He went from bobbing to sucking, from long slow licks to swirls of his tongue, until Sherlock felt like he couldn't take any more. Only when he had been reduced to babbling a meaningless string of _Oh God_ and _Please_ and _Fuck_ did John finally allow him to topple over the edge.

Coming down from his orgasm with a shudder, Sherlock pulled John up for a kiss. He licked into John's mouth, startled at the taste of his own semen. He could feel John smiling against his lips.

"Bet you're glad I was paying attention when we were doing our online research," John said smugly.

"You're not the only one who picked up a few pointers," Sherlock told him. "Just give me a second to catch my breath, and I'll show you."

John's smile widened. "You're on."

Sherlock rolled them over, kissing John soundly on the mouth before working his way down his neck to his chest. He wondered whether John's nipples were as sensitive as his own, and decided there was only one way to find out. He gave an experimental lick, and was pleased at the breathy sound John made.

"So it's not just me, huh? This actually _is_ an erogenous zone for men."

"Apparently."

Sherlock smiled, sucking a kiss into John's other nipple. He reached for one of John's hands, lacing their fingers together. Then he gradually began kissing his way down his boyfriend's torso.

As he worked his way lower, Sherlock nudged John's legs apart, settling between them. He rested his head against John's hip, nuzzling into the curly hair around his cock. He breathed in deeply, familiarising himself with his boyfriend's scent.

When he reached out his tongue to take a tentative taste, John's breath hitched, and the hand that Sherlock was holding clutched at him reflexively. Sherlock squeezed back, lifting his head slightly to ask, "Is this okay?"

"Oh yeah."

Smiling, Sherlock kissed his way up the underside of John's cock, pausing just under the head to flick his tongue out lightly. John bucked up wildly, and Sherlock quickly threw a forearm across his hips to hold him down.

As he took his boyfriend's cock into his mouth for the first time, Sherlock lost himself in John's reactions. Every twitch, every moan, every stuttering breath filled him with a nameless joy. When John finally came, cock pulsing, spilling warm and salty onto his tongue, Sherlock felt like he was coming as well.

Dragging himself up to lie with his cheek pressed over John's pounding heart, Sherlock murmured, "Sometimes I just can't believe how much I love you."

John brought one hand up to stroke lazily at his hair. "I know."


	10. I've Been Practicing

**Chapter 10 — I've Been Practicing**

As soon as Sherlock entered the flat, he realised that John had unexpectedly returned home before him. Walking briskly to the bedroom door, he turned the knob and pushed it open. A naked John popped up, startled, and then flopped back down on the bed. He grinned up at Sherlock. "I've been practicing."

Sherlock arched one eyebrow, and John elaborated. "I've been practicing fingering myself. So that I'll know what it feels like… For when we're ready to try that together."

Sherlock felt suddenly dizzy, as the breath whooshed out of his lungs and all the blood in his body rushed straight to his cock. "You are so hot," he gasped, collapsing on top of his boyfriend.

John chuckled. "I'm glad you think so."

"I think you've fried my brain. My powers of deduction have gone up in smoke. You're going to have to give me details about your little practice session."

John grinned at him. "Do you want _show_ or _tell?_ "

"Oh my god. Show."

John giggled at his response.

Sherlock kissed him fiercely, sucking on his lower lip. Pulling away, he purred, "I think someone offered to put on a show for me."

"Well, you're not going to be able to see much from that angle."

Sherlock laughed, rolling off of his boyfriend and coming to rest on his side. "I love how uninhibited you are."

"Well," John admitted, "I did have a split second of self-doubt, thinking _What the fuck am I doing? There's no way on earth I can do that in front of him!_ But then I pictured your reaction when I told you I'd been practicing… And I knew you were going to be too turned on to judge me," he ended, with a significant look at Sherlock's very obvious erection.

"No judging," Sherlock agreed brokenly. "Too hot."

"Sweetheart, you can't even form a complete sentence. That's so cute."

"Less talk. More fingering."

"Ooh, you're so demanding," John said, reaching up to pull Sherlock in for a kiss. "Okay, get comfortable. The show's about to begin."

Sherlock watched intently as John flipped open the bottle of lube and squeezed some out onto his first two fingers. He rubbed them together, using his thumb to spread the lube all the way down. Drawing his knees up toward his chest, John reached down between his legs.

Sherlock shifted, trying to get a better view, but John grabbed at him with his free hand. "Stay here, or you're going to make me too self-conscious."

Sherlock leaned down and kissed him, cupping John's face in his hand. "I can't believe how hot this is."

John smiled, letting out a breath as he pushed one finger inside. "Oh my god," Sherlock groaned. "What does it feel like?"

"Like I'm giving myself a rectal exam."

Sherlock nipped at his neck. "Come on. Tell me. Does it hurt?"

"No. It's kind of a stretch if I use two, but it doesn't actually hurt, except for a little bit of a twinge when I pull them back out."

"Do you like it?"

"Um, it's kind of hard to tell. I can't reach very well, and the angle is awkward, so it just feels sort of weird. But I figure if I keep trying it'll get better."

Sherlock kissed his boyfriend deeply before pulling back to ask, "Would you like some help with that?"

John's eyes darkened, and he grabbed Sherlock by the back of the neck to pull him in for another kiss. "Okay."

John pulled his fingers free, hissing a little as he did so. Sherlock handed him a tissue.

"Thanks," John said, cleaning his fingers and tossing the tissue into the bin. "Do you have the lube?"

Sherlock held it up. He gave John another kiss before saying, "If you don't want me to have the same problem with the awkward angle that you did, you're going to have to let me scoot down."

"Okay. One more kiss first."

Sherlock gave him one more kiss, and then another, for good measure.

Moving down between John's legs, Sherlock felt suddenly nervous. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't. Your fingers aren't as thick as mine."

"Yeah, but they're longer."

"That doesn't matter. Just use plenty of lube, and go slow. I'll tell you if I need you to stop."

Sherlock slicked up his fingers, then reached for John with his other hand. John twined their fingers together, giving Sherlock's hand a reassuring squeeze. "Don't worry," he said. "I trust you."

Sherlock placed the tip of his index finger on John's pucker, unsure how to begin. "There's no opening."

John laughed. "Just push in gently. I'll open up around you."

Sherlock did as he was told, watching in fascination as his finger began to disappear into his boyfriend. A tiny way in, though, he met with resistance. "Is this okay?"

"Yeah. Just keep going. I'll tell you if I want you to stop."

John let out a slow breath, willing himself to relax, and Sherlock pushed past the tight ring of muscle.

"Wow – that is way better than when I did it."

Sherlock grinned at him. "What should I do now?"

"Just give me a second to get used to it."

Sherlock waited, feeling John's muscles clenching around him, pulling his finger in more deeply. Soon the tightness surrounding him began to ease, and John said, "Okay, pull out slowly, and then try again with two."

As Sherlock carefully drew his finger out, he could feel John clamping down, as if unwilling to let him go. Once his finger had slipped free, Sherlock squeezed his boyfriend's hand. "Are you sure you want me to try two? It doesn't seem like they'll fit."

"They will. Just maybe use more lube."

Sherlock applied more of the slippery gel, dripping some onto John as well. John jerked in surprise. "That's cold!"

"Sorry. I wanted to make sure I was using enough."

Sherlock placed his first two fingers at John's now-shiny entrance. It really didn't seem possible that they could both fit through that tiny opening. Taking a deep breath, he began to push, wiggling his fingers until he finally worked them inside.

John let out a gasp, and Sherlock immediately stilled. "Did I hurt you?"

"No… No… It feels good… Just intense."

Once he felt John's muscles begin to relax, Sherlock asked, "Is it okay if I move around a little?"

"Yeah. Just go slowly."

Sherlock slid his fingers partway out, then back in. Feeling how tight John was, he said, "I'm not trying to brag, or anything, but my cock is _way_ bigger than two fingers. There's no way it's ever going to fit in here."

John let out a snort of laughter, causing his muscles to clench around Sherlock's fingers. "It's gotta be possible. People do it all the time. You just need to stretch me out a little first."

"Stretch you out a little? There's barely room for me to move my fingers in here."

"Just try to spread them apart a bit," John suggested. Then, at Sherlock's worried look, he added, "You're not going to hurt me."

Sherlock scissored his fingers apart and together, rotating his wrist to get an even stretch in all directions. After a few minutes, John said, "Okay, now try three."

Sherlock gave him a skeptical look.

"Just hold your fingers apart as you start to pull out, and slip the third one in between them."

Releasing John's hand, Sherlock once more grabbed the bottle of lube, applying a generous amount. Taking his boyfriend's hand again, he asked, "Are you sure about this?"

"Yeah."

Sherlock lifted his index finger up and pushed his middle finger down as he slowly drew them out, holding John open and creating a space into which he slid his ring finger. John's grip on his hand tightened, and he panted out, "Hold on."

Sherlock froze. "Do you want me to pull back out?"

"No. I'm okay. Just wait a sec."

John's muscles were clenching rhythmically around Sherlock's fingers, crushing them uncomfortably together. He was not about to complain, though. He looked up worriedly at his boyfriend, whose eyes were squeezed shut. "John, I'm really afraid that I'm hurting you."

"No, I'm okay. I just need to relax enough that you can get your knuckles in. I'm going to take a deep breath, and when I let it out, just go for it."

"My knuckles are a lot wider than three fingertips tucked together."

"I know, but it'll be fine."

Seeing the doubt in Sherlock's eyes, John added, "Just trust me, okay? I've studied anatomy — I'm a doctor, remember?"

Sherlock gritted his teeth, steeling himself to do what his boyfriend was asking. "Okay," he said.

John drew in a deep breath, and as he began to let it out Sherlock pushed firmly against the ring of muscle that was constricting his fingers. It felt impenetrable, but Sherlock increased the pressure until he felt something give, and his fingers slid through.

John let out a loud groan. Sherlock felt himself panicking. Tears sprang to his eyes as he clutched at John's fingers. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! John, are you okay?"

Hearing the desperation in his boyfriend's voice, John opened his eyes and forced himself to speak as steadily as he could. "It's okay. I'm okay. Just don't move for a minute."

Sherlock nodded helplessly. "Oh god. I didn't want to hurt you."

"Sherlock, sweetheart, calm down. I'm okay. You didn't hurt me. It's just a really intense stretch. But I swear it's okay. Please don't freak out while you've got your fingers in my arse."

Sherlock huffed out a shaky laugh. "Okay. Not freaking out. Not freaking out."

John gave Sherlock's hand a reassuring squeeze as both men's breathing gradually returned to normal. "Okay," John said at last. "I think you can move around a little now."

Sherlock tentatively slid his fingers the slightest bit in and out. His fingertips had a little wiggle room, but his knuckles felt like they were being held in a vice. Gradually, though, John's muscles loosened up, and Sherlock was able to move more easily.

John released a sigh. "That's actually starting to feel kind of good."

"Really?"

"Would I lie to someone who has his fingers in my arse?"


	11. You're Driving Me Crazy!

**Chapter 11 — You're Driving Me Crazy**

When he was awakened by a text alert the following morning, Sherlock took a moment to kiss the back of John's neck before rolling over to check his phone. Turning back to his boyfriend, Sherlock nuzzled into his curls. "Time to wake up, love. We've got a case."

"Mmm… Good morning," John said, snuggling back into Sherlock's arms.

Sherlock gave his boyfriend a squeeze before dragging himself out of bed. As John moved to follow him, Sherlock saw him wince slightly. Memories of their previous night came flooding back, and he was instantly concerned.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little twinge."

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Sherlock, I'm fine. You didn't hurt me. Now come on, let's get moving. I don't want you blaming me if we're late to the crime scene and you miss some essential piece of evidence."

Soon they were dressed and heading down the stairs. Sherlock noticed that John was moving a little more stiffly than usual. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, worry evident in his voice.

"Yeah, just a little sore."

"Oh my god, John, I'm so sorry. I knew I hurt you last night."

"Sherlock, stop worrying. I'm sure it's completely normal to be a little sore the next day."

Sherlock was not reassured, but he didn't want to continue their conversation on the pavement in front of 221B. He tried to hail a taxi with his usual aplomb, but inside he was filled with remorse. John was in pain, and it was all his fault.

Once they were seated in the back of the cab, Sherlock turned to John and whispered, "I'm so, so sorry. I never should have tried three fingers. I could feel how tight you were, and I should have known I was going to hurt you. Do you want to go back to bed? I can text Lestrade and tell him we're not coming."

"Don't be silly. There's nothing wrong with me. And if you think I'd rather lie around the flat than follow you on a case, you've lost your mind. Come on, stop fussing over me."

Sherlock tried to push his anxiety aside, but every time he glanced at John he felt the guilt swelling inside him. When he saw his boyfriend grimace slightly as he climbed out of the taxi, Sherlock started to say, "I'm sorr-" but John cut him off before the words were halfway out of his mouth.

"Oh my god, Sherlock, if you say 'I'm sorry' one more time, I'm going to smack you!" he yelled, exasperated.

At the look of shock on his boyfriend's face, John quickly corrected himself. "You know I'd never really hit you. Well, not unless you asked me to. But you're driving me crazy here – and not in a good way. Why won't you believe me when I say I'm okay? It's _my_ body, and I know how it feels. Your fingers may have been inside me last night, but you're not in there right now, so you don't get to be the expert on how I'm feeling. If I say you didn't hurt me, then you didn't hurt me! Now, I am not going to discuss this in front of half the Yard, so that's the end of this conversation. We've got a crime scene to investigate. Come on."

Sherlock followed meekly in his wake, stunned into silence.

…

Back at Baker Street that evening, Sherlock and John held hands as they walked up the stairs to 221B. Sherlock had been watching his boyfriend surreptitiously all day, and he was pleased to note that John seemed to be moving normally now.

When they entered the flat, John pulled Sherlock into the bedroom. Both men kicked off their shoes before lying down together on top of the duvet. Sherlock rolled onto his back, and John snuggled against him, resting his head on Sherlock's chest.

Wrapping his arms around his boyfriend, and running the fingers of one hand through his hair, Sherlock said, "I didn't mean to make you angry with all of my apologies this morning. I was just really worried about you. You seemed like you were in pain, and you know I never want to hurt you."

"I know. And I'm sorry I yelled at you. But I felt like you weren't listening to me when I kept telling you that I'm okay. And you were acting like you did something _to_ me, when really, we did something _together_. Something that I really wanted, and really enjoyed. And would really like to do again, by the way. So I don't want you to have any regrets about last night."

"All right. I'm listening now," Sherlock said, gathering John even closer. "So tell me how you're feeling, and I promise I'll believe you."

John nuzzled up under Sherlock's chin, kissing his neck. "Okay. Well, I do feel a little sore, but it's not a bad kind of sore. I just feel like my body's been stretched in a new way, and so I'm more aware of it, but it doesn't actually hurt. Do you know what I mean?"

"Yeah, that makes sense."

"And I think it's like with anything new – the more we practice, the easier it will get."

Sherlock smiled. "That could be fun…"

…

A few nights later, Sherlock and John were cuddled up in bed, discussing their next "practice session." Sherlock was trying to remember all the details of the _Go Ask Alice_ article about how to give a prostate massage. "They called it 'the male hot spot,' so it has to be good," he said. "Do you want me to try, and you can see if you like it?"

John hummed his agreement, trailing kisses down the side of Sherlock's neck. As Sherlock reached for the lube and the baby wipes they'd bought for easy clean up, John nipped him on the shoulder. "Someone's moving awfully fast. Whatever happened to foreplay?"

"I just thought I'd get everything ready now, so we don't have to interrupt ourselves later," he explained, rolling over on top of his boyfriend.

John smiled up at him. "Well, okay then."

Sherlock brought their lips together in a lazy kiss. John responded in kind, kissing him back slow and sweet. Sherlock lost track of time as they lay together, trading kisses that gradually deepened, until both were hard and panting.

Sherlock pulled himself away from John's lips to kiss his way down his boyfriend's body, fumbling with one hand to find the bottle of lube. When he reached John's cock, he paused for a moment to draw the head into his mouth and lick at the slit. John moaned, thrusting up against his tongue. Sherlock pulled off, causing John to whine in protest.

Sherlock sat back on his heels, flipping open the cap of the bottle, and coating his first two fingers. Catching John's eye, he asked, "Is this okay?"

"Definitely."

Sherlock smiled at that, bringing his index finger to John's entrance and gently pushing inside. He noted with relief that he slipped in more easily this time. He'd been trying not to worry, but a small part of him was still concerned about the possibility of hurting his boyfriend. John seemed relaxed, though, and his pleased little noises were music to Sherlock's ears.

"Should I try two?"

"Mmmm hmmm."

John felt a little tight around his fingers, but Sherlock definitely had more wiggle room than the last time. He took advantage of this, crooking his fingers up in the beckoning motion the website had recommended. At first he wasn't quite sure what he was looking for. He knew immediately when he found it, though, as John let out a low moan that was unmistakably pleasure rather than pain.

"Oh my god, that was amazing. I'm never going to be able to give another prostate exam without blushing. Do it again."

Sherlock was more than happy to oblige. He stroked rhythmically along the bundle of nerve endings, causing John to cry out with every press of his fingertips.

Using his free hand to anchor his boyfriend's hips to the bed, Sherlock leaned forward and took John's cock into his mouth. He continued to rub against John's prostate as his boyfriend thrashed wildly beneath him. Soon John was coming, hot, down his throat.

Sherlock could feel John's muscles clenching around his fingers. He carefully pulled them out, quickly cleaning himself off with a baby wipe.

John reached for him, drawing him down into a tight embrace. Sherlock could feel John's heart beating frantically against his chest, and hear his ragged breathing in his ear. He held on tightly, trying to steady his boyfriend with the weight of his body. Gradually, John's heart rate slowed, and his breathing calmed.

Sherlock lifted himself up slightly to gaze into his boyfriend's dazed eyes. "How do you feel?"

It took John a moment to find his voice to answer. "Un-fucking-believable."


	12. I Want To Feel You Inside Me

**Chapter 12 — I Want To Feel You Inside Me**

Sherlock and John indulged in a lazy Sunday morning, alternately cuddling, kissing, and dozing. Sherlock drifted off to the feeling of John stroking his hair, and gradually reawakened to the sensation of his boyfriend's hands running up and down the length of his back.

Kissing at the nearest part of John that he could reach (which happened to be his shoulder) Sherlock murmured, "That feels really good… Almost too good to be possible. Sometimes I can't believe that we ended up together. What are the chances?"

"When it's meant to be? I'd say they're pretty damn good."

"Do you believe that? That we were meant to be together, I mean?"

"Yeah. Don't you?"

"I don't know. I guess I've never really thought about it like that. But I can't imagine being with anyone else. So whether it's fate, or luck, or destiny, or whatever, I'm so glad we found each other."

John kissed him. "Me too."

"How are you feeling this morning? Are you sore at all?"

John paused for a moment to consider. "I don't think so. I'll let you know for sure once I get up."

"Not yet," Sherlock said, pulling him closer. "I'm not done cuddling."

It was long time later when hunger finally drove them from their bed. As John got up, he answered Sherlock's earlier question. "Nope – don't seem to be sore this morning. I told you all we needed was a little practice."

"I don't know," Sherlock teased. "I'm still not sure if I know what I'm doing. I might have to practice some more until I figure it out."

John's eyes darkened. "Yeah, that sounds like a good idea."

…

Sherlock and John found opportunities for a few more "practice sessions" that week. Once he was no longer worried about accidentally hurting his boyfriend, Sherlock surprised himself with his own enthusiasm. He felt intoxicated by the sight of John spread out before him, lips parted and head thrown back in abandon. And the noises John made shot straight to Sherlock's cock.

Saturday evening found Sherlock with three fingers buried once again in his boyfriend's arse while John writhed shamelessly on the bed in front of him. As Sherlock leaned down to take his boyfriend's cock in his mouth, though, John reached out a hand to stop him.

"I want to feel you inside me," he panted.

"I _am_ inside you."

"No – I mean I want you to fuck me."

When Sherlock didn't immediately respond, John added brokenly, "Please."

The sound of John's pleading snapped Sherlock back to reality. He grabbed John's hand and looked him directly in the eyes as he answered, "Okay. Yes. Yes."

John let out a deep sigh, and his body (well, most of it) went limp. "C'mere," he said, tugging on Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock removed his fingers and wiped them off before moving up to cover John's body with his own. He brought their lips together, kissing John tenderly. Pulling back slightly to gaze into his boyfriend's eyes, he asked, "Are you sure you're ready for this?"

"Yeah. Are you? I'm not trying to push you, I just – "

Sherlock silenced him with another kiss. "Yes. Okay? Yes."

John wrapped his arms more tightly around Sherlock. "Okay," he said, smiling up at him.

Sherlock dipped back down to kiss him again before saying, "Let me grab a condom now, while I can still think clearly enough to remember where they are."

"I'm having a little difficulty remembering my own name right now, let alone where we stashed the condoms."

Sherlock laughed, fishing the box of condoms out from the bedside table drawer. "Well, good thing one of us is capable of semi-rational thought at the moment."

John pulled him in for another kiss. As their lips met, Sherlock felt as if his entire body was melting into John's. Everything between them seemed so soft, except where their cocks were pressed together, hard and throbbing.

Sherlock felt a sudden and overwhelming rush of tenderness for his boyfriend. He brought his hand to John's face, tracing the line of his eyebrow, then down his cheek. He could feel John smiling against his lips.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

With a last, lingering kiss, Sherlock rolled over onto his side, fumbling with the condom. John grabbed an extra pillow, folded it over, and positioned it under his hips. Sherlock slicked himself up with more lube before bringing his clean hand back to John's face.

"I'll go slow. Just tell me if you need me to stop, okay?"

"I will."

John spread his legs, lifting his knees, and Sherlock was glad for the easier access the pillow under his hips provided. Using one hand to help line himself up with John's entrance, Sherlock began to push slowly forward.

As the head of his cock slipped in, Sherlock and John both gasped. Sherlock stilled, allowing John to adjust to the stretch, and himself to adjust to the intense tightness and heat. Once he felt John begin to ease around him, Sherlock gradually allowed himself to sink in fully.

The sensation was like nothing Sherlock had ever imagined. He blacked out for a moment, losing himself in the ecstasy of being _inside_ his boyfriend's body. He opened his eyes to find John gazing at him in awe.

"I can feel you inside me."

"I know."

"Not just physically. In my heart. I can _feel_ you."

"I know," Sherlock repeated, smiling down at him.

John lifted his head, and Sherlock bent to kiss him. The position was a little awkward, but neither of them minded. Sherlock put all of his feelings into that kiss, and he could tell that John was doing the same.

Eventually John let his head fall back onto the mattress. "I think it's time for you to fuck me now."

Sherlock laughed. "Well, okay then."

He slowly pulled partway out, feeling John clenching around him, as if trying to hold him in place. As he thrust back in, John squeezed, drawing him deeper.

Sherlock rocked his hips forward, experimenting with the angle, until John let out a pleased little hum that told him he was on target. Then he began thrusting rhythmically, revelling in every sound he drew from John's lips.

Sherlock gave himself over to the experience. There was nothing but John, filling his senses. He could still taste the sweetness of their last kiss. The heady scent of their arousal surrounded him. Every nerve ending in his body was on fire with the exquisite feeling of John's body enveloping his own. The sight of his boyfriend, spread open beneath him, brought a quick sting of tears to his eyes. And all Sherlock could hear was John's ragged voice, repeating his name like a litany.

Sherlock could feel his orgasm building, and he could tell that his boyfriend was close, as well. He held off his release by sheer force of will, until John's cries reached a crescendo, as he came with Sherlock's name still on his lips. As John's muscles contracted sharply around his cock, Sherlock finally let himself go, hips stuttering as he came.

Sherlock didn't know where he found the strength to pull out of John and toss the condom toward the bin before collapsing on top of his boyfriend. He could feel John kissing him, but he barely had the energy to kiss back.

Gradually, the spent feeling receded, to be replaced by a disturbing sense of loss. As John brought one hand up to pet lazily at his hair, Sherlock clung to him, tightly and a little desperately. John kissed him deeply before pulling back to gaze at him. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I want to be back inside of you."

"You're sexy as hell, love, but I don't think I can go again tonight."

"No, that's not what I mean. I mean, not that I wouldn't want to do that again. Because I totally would. But that's not what I meant…"

"Sherlock, you're babbling," John said fondly.

"I know. It's just that feeling… of being inside of you… of being connected… I don't want to lose that."

"But we're still connected. I'm right here. And I can still feel you, inside my heart. I'm not going to let go of you," John said reassuringly.

Then he added, "Well, I might let go for just one sec, so I can make use of those baby wipes we were smart enough to buy. But then I'll be right back, okay?"

"Okay," Sherlock agreed, reluctantly releasing his hold on his boyfriend and rolling off of him so that John could move. John placed one hand over Sherlock's heart as he used the other to carefully clean them both off. Sherlock covered John's hand with his own, pressing it tightly against his chest.

Once John had disposed of the wipe, he leaned down to kiss Sherlock.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

"Now come here," John said, settling down on his side and holding his arms open. "I want to be the big spoon tonight."

Sherlock snuggled back against him with a sigh. John pulled him close, entwining their fingers and bringing their linked hands to rest against Sherlock's heart.

"Goodnight, my love."

"Goodnight."

 **End Notes:** Reviews make me a happy writer. :)


	13. I Told You I'd Win

**Chapter 13 — I Told You I'd Win**

Sherlock generally awoke before John. Sometimes he would get up to attend to one of his experiments; other times he would simply lie in bed observing John as he slept. One day, however, he decided to give his boyfriend a special wake-up. His lips had traveled as far as John's lower abdomen when John began to stir.

"Mmm… What are you doing?"

"Giving you a 'good morning' blow job?"

"Mmmmm… Carry on…"

So Sherlock did, proud of his newfound confidence when it came to pleasing John.

It wasn't long before he felt the hot spurt of his boyfriend's release. After one last kiss to his softening cock, Sherlock moved back up the bed to drape himself over John's lax body.

Sherlock thought that John was drifting back to sleep, and he was just starting to doze off himself, when John's arms tightened around him as he flipped them over.

"Oooh, I love it when you take control," Sherlock cooed, gazing up at him. Although his voice was teasing, there was a grain of truth in his eyes. Gripping both of his boyfriend's wrists, John brought Sherlock's hands up over his head and held them down. Sherlock gasped, eyes widening.

John smiled down at him knowingly. He lowered his head, and Sherlock surged up to meet his lips. John took Sherlock's mouth in a hungry kiss. Sherlock finally twisted his head away, panting. John released his wrists, intertwining their fingers instead. "Is this okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," Sherlock said, but his voice was a little shaky.

John brought their linked hands to his lips, kissing Sherlock's knuckles. "Sweetheart, look at me," he said, waiting for Sherlock to meet his eyes before adding, "I love you."

Sherlock's face softened. "I love you, too."

"What do you need?"

"Just hold me, for a minute?"

"Of course," John said, rolling onto his back and pulling Sherlock down against his chest. He wrapped his arms tightly around his boyfriend. Sherlock snuggled in close, tucking his head into the space between John's neck and shoulder.

John purposely slowed his own breathing, smiling as Sherlock's relaxed, as well. "Are you okay?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah. I just freaked myself out a little."

"Freaked yourself out?"

"Yeah, um… with how, um… into that I was," Sherlock said hesitantly. Then he clarified, "Into you holding me down, I mean. It's, um, kind of weird."

"I don't think it's weird. I like that feeling, too, when you're on top of me, pinning me down. Because I totally trust you, and I feel like I can just let go. I don't think there's anything wrong with that."

Sherlock let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. "Thank you."

"Any time," John said, kissing the top of his head. "Now, are you ready for your own 'good morning' blow job?"

"Definitely."

…

They had decided to spend the afternoon in Regent's Park, so John was putting together some ham sandwiches for a picnic lunch. Sherlock sauntered into the kitchen and sprawled casually in a chair.

"Don't bother offering to help. You just sit there and look pretty while I do all the work," John teased.

Sherlock shoved him playfully in the shoulder, causing him to smear mustard across his hand.

"Hey!" John warned. "You do not want to get into a food fight with me, mister."

Sherlock laughed. "Okay. Let me make it up to you."

He brought John's hand to his mouth and licked off the mustard. John's breath hitched, and Sherlock was about to lick him again when he heard Mrs. Hudson's voice from the doorway.

"Did somebody say food fight? I brought you some biscuits, but I don't want to get caught in the middle of things if you boys are about to make a mess of this kitchen."

"No," John said quickly. "There's no food fight. Sherlock was just being a little clumsy."

Sherlock glared at John. Then he slowly and deliberately stuck his finger in the mustard and swiped it down his boyfriend's nose. "Oops. Guess I was clumsy again."

"I'll just drop off these biscuits and leave you boys to it," Mrs. Hudson said, making a hasty retreat.

"You're in trouble now," John threatened, wiping the mustard from his nose.

"Bring it on. You know I'm going to win," Sherlock shot back.

John chuckled as he put the finishing touches on their picnic lunch. "You're just lucky that it's such a beautiful day. I don't want to stay inside and fight. Come on, let's go to the park."

…

That evening found the two of them cuddled up comfortably together in bed. John rolled onto his back, and Sherlock settled on top of him. John raised his head, bringing their lips together in a sweet kiss. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

Suddenly John got a wicked gleam in his eyes. Wrapping his arms tightly around his boyfriend, he rolled them over, then grabbed Sherlock's wrists and pinned them above his head.

"You didn't think I'd forget about the way you smeared mustard down my nose, did you?" he growled. "It's time to continue that food fight, and _you're_ going to be the food."

With that, John gave Sherlock a sharp little nip on the shoulder. Sherlock let out a faint noise of protest, but it was clearly just for show. The twitch of his lips, as well as the way his pupils had dilated and his cock had instantly hardened between them, let John know he was eager to play this little game.

Gripping his boyfriend's wrists more tightly, John nipped his way up the side of Sherlock's neck. Sherlock squirmed beneath him, rubbing their cocks together. John ground his hips down, sucking Sherlock's lower lip into his mouth, and causing his boyfriend to moan and thrust up against him.

Releasing Sherlock's lip, John nibbled his way down the other side of his neck to his clavicle. Looking up through his eyelashes, John asked, "Is it okay if I mark you?"

Sherlock murmured his assent, so John went to work, sucking a bruise into his boyfriend's pale skin. Pulling back to admire his handiwork, John smiled down at Sherlock before lowering his head to lick over the dark patch he'd created.

John brought their lips together, kissing Sherlock deep and slow. He began rocking his hips in a steady rhythm, sliding their cocks together, until he felt his boyfriend come apart beneath him. That was all it took to push John over the edge as well.

Finally releasing Sherlock's wrists, John brought his hands to his boyfriend's face as he dipped down to kiss him. Raising himself back up, he asked teasingly, "See what happens when you challenge me to a food fight?"

Sherlock grinned back up at him. "I _told_ you I'd win."

 **End Notes:** A month ago, I wrote a little Dr. Seuss/Johnlock crossover entitled "The Sherlock in the Hat." An odd fusion, I know, but I've done it again. This one is based on The Lorax, and it's called "I Am John Watson, I Speak for the Curls." If you're interested, check it out. And, while I'm busy shamelessly promoting my other Johnlock works, let me put in a plug for a few more. "Past Imperfect, Future Perfect" is a humorous rant about grammar, "Read It" is a 100 word drabble I dashed off for International Fanworks Day, and "Johnlock Roulette" is a 5+1 friends to lovers story. I'd love to get your feedback on any or all of them. :)


	14. A White Knight on His Steed

**Chapter 14 — A White Knight on His Steed**

There were many things that Sherlock had never previously enjoyed, or just couldn't be bothered to do on his own, that were somehow worth doing if he did them with John. Things like eating on a regular basis, or going to sleep each night. Even things like watching utterly nonsensical movies.

"Why are they waving those sticks around?"

"Those are wands, Sherlock. Harry Potter and his friends are wizards, and they use the wands to do magic."

"Well that's not very realistic."

"It's a _fantasy_ , love. Surely you're familiar with the concept of fantasy."

"Only when it pertains to you…"

They didn't get to see the end of that movie, but neither one was complaining.

….

Something else Sherlock was now willing to do, if I would make John happy, was attempt to be sociable. That was how he found himself at Lestrade's birthday party, surrounded by most of the people who worked at the Yard and quite a few other random individuals he'd never seen before and wouldn't mind if he never saw again. Birthday celebrations for grown men were ridiculous, of course, but with John by his side the event wasn't completely unpleasant.

In fact, Sherlock upgraded his assessment of the evening considerably when John held out a hand and asked him to dance. The music was an eclectic mix, filled with songs Sherlock had never heard, but having John in his arms, in public, left him giddy with delight as his feet floated to the unfamiliar melodies.

"Oh — _Daydream Believer —_ I love this song," John said, and began to sing along. When he reached the line "You once thought of me as a white knight on his steed," he gave Sherlock a significant look.

As the song ended, John leaned into Sherlock, murmuring, "I'll be your white knight, if you'll be my steed." When Sherlock's expression made it clear that he hadn't grasped the full meaning behind those words, John elaborated, "I want to ride you."

Sherlock's jaw fell open and a blush raced up his cheeks as he glanced around to see whether anyone had overheard. The other partygoers were all talking and laughing amongst themselves, though, and no one seemed to have noticed that his face was suddenly on fire. Pressing his lips to John's ear, Sherlock whispered, "Let's get out of here."

John was up in a flash, calling out loudly to the group at large, "Well, Sherlock and I have had a really long day, so we're heading home. Happy birthday, Greg!"

This announcement was followed by quite a few catcalls and wolf whistles, as no one appeared to be buying the "It's been a long day" excuse. John shrugged off their reactions with a wink and a grin. "Oh, hush. You're just jealous."

"Damn right, we are!" Dimmock called.

Sherlock got to his feet and tugged on John's hand, muttering "Stop egging them on." Then he addressed the others. "Goodnight, everybody."

There was a chorus of goodnights, followed by a few more suggestive comments, as Sherlock and John left the party. They held hands, giggling, as they hailed a cab.

Once they were back in their flat, John pulled Sherlock into the bedroom. With gentle fingers, he began undoing the buttons on Sherlock's shirt, pausing to run his hands over each new bit of skin he exposed. Sherlock shivered a little at his touch. Tugging the bottom of the shirt out of Sherlock's trousers, John finished with the last button.

Sherlock turned around to face his boyfriend, tugging John's shirt off and bringing their bare chests together. He loved the way John's breath hitched whenever skin met skin. Running his hands up and down John's back, Sherlock nuzzled into his boyfriend's neck, pressing little kisses under his ear.

John backed Sherlock toward the bed until he bumped into the mattress and sat down, then knelt in front of him to pull off his shoes. As John dug his thumbs into the instep of each foot, Sherlock let out a pleased moan. "That feels amazing… I was about to say it was better than sex, but then I realised I'd be lying… Still, I think it comes in a close second."

John grinned up at Sherlock, pulling off his socks and planting a kiss on the tip of each toe as he continued to rub his feet. Sherlock sighed, leaning back on his elbows. "Your hands are magic."

"If I wave them around and say _Alohomora,_ do you think your zipper will just magically open?"

"Hmm… I think you might need to be a little more hands-on for that."

John quickly took the hint, tugging off Sherlock's trousers and pants, and then hurriedly discarding the rest of his own clothes. Sherlock pulled him down on the bed, tangling their legs together and running his hands down John's back to his arse.

"I think _your_ hands might be magic, too," John murmured.

"Wonder what'll happen if I wave them around and say _Accio lube_?"

John laughed. "I think your boyfriend will grab everything we need, and let your fingers do their magic."

"Kiss me first."

So John kissed him, deep and slow, pressing Sherlock into the bed with the weight of his body. Then he reached for the lube and handed it to his boyfriend. "Do you think you can finger me in this position, so I can get used to the angle?"

Sherlock smiled up at him. "I can certainly try…"

With John straddling his waist, Sherlock brought his slicked-up fingers to his boyfriend's arse. He couldn't see what he was doing, but by now they'd had enough practice that he figured he could do this with his eyes closed. It didn't take long before John was working himself down onto Sherlock's fingers enthusiastically, experimenting with leaning forward and back to find the angle that felt best.

Soon he stilled, asking, "Can I ride you now?"

"Oh, god, yes."

John grabbed a condom, rolling it down over Sherlock's cock before coating it with lube. It took a couple of tries for him to line himself up and sink down. Sherlock gasped as John's tight heat finally surrounded him.

Everything felt different to Sherlock in this position – partially the physical sensations, but mostly the release of control. He lay back, allowing John to set the pace, moaning as his boyfriend's muscles clenched around him with his every rise and fall.

As John tipped forward, Sherlock stretched up to meet him in a messy kiss. He could feel the heat coiling inside him. Dropping his head back onto the pillow, Sherlock reached for his boyfriend's cock, stroking it in time with John's rhythm.

John groaned, arching his back and squeezing down tightly as he increased his pace. His cock jerked as he came, hot and wet, across Sherlock's chest. The muscles in John's arse contracted sharply, dragging a cry from Sherlock's throat as he, too, shuddered and came hard.

John raised himself up slightly to allow Sherlock to slip out, then collapsed against his boyfriend's chest. They lay together, panting, as their heart rates gradually returned to normal.

"Okay," Sherlock said, once he'd caught his breath enough to speak, "I have no idea what I was thinking earlier. There is _no_ comparison between sex and a foot rub. Your arse truly _is_ magic."

 **End Notes:** I really appreciate every review you write. Please keep them coming. **:)**


	15. I Don't Want To Say Goodbye

**Chapter 15 — I Don't Want To Say Goodbye**

John was leaving, and there was nothing Sherlock could do about it. John was going to leave him.

"It's only for three days, love."

"But why does it have to be now, when I'm in the middle of investigating a string of murders, and can't come with you?"

"Sherlock, this conference has been on my calendar for nearly a year, and you know I'm scheduled to speak."

"But I'll miss you."

"I know, love. I'll miss you, too. But since this is our last morning together for a few days, let's make it one to remember."

Sherlock hummed his assent, and John began kissing his way down his neck to his chest. When John slid his tongue over to one taut nipple, Sherlock shuddered, still a little surprised by how good that always felt. He arched up into his boyfriend's lips.

As John began trailing his kisses lower and lower, though, Sherlock grabbed him and pulled him back up. "I feel like you're too far away down there."

John smiled at him, sliding up and bringing their bodies flush together. "I know what you mean. It feels really good to hold you like this."

Sherlock brought their lips together, soft and gentle. John responded in kind, kissing back sweet and slow. They lay like that for a long time, trading kisses that gradually deepened from tender to passionate.

Eventually, John began rolling his hips down, sliding their cocks together. Sherlock brought one hand down to encircle them both. With his other hand he cupped John's arse, squeezing rhythmically with his every thrust. Soon they were moaning and panting into each other's mouths as they rutted together. Sherlock came first, and John followed right behind him, hips stuttering.

Sherlock slid his hands up his boyfriend's back, pulling him impossibly closer. There was something so comforting about John's weight on him, his sturdy, compact body pressing Sherlock into the bed. He released a heavy sigh.

Sherlock was just beginning to drift back to sleep when John started to roll off of him. "Where are you going?" he asked, trying to hold his boyfriend in place.

"I have to leave for my conference in forty-five minutes, and I thought it might be kind of tacky to show up naked, covered in dried semen."

Sherlock laughed. "Well, when you put it that way, I guess I should let you have a shower. I'll make breakfast."

Once John was clean and fed, he walked to the door, suitcase in hand, and then stood there awkwardly, not quite knowing how to leave.

Sherlock broke the silence. "I don't want to say goodbye."

"It's not _goodbye_ , it's just _see you in a couple of days_."

"But a couple of days is a long time."

"I know. And I don't like this any more than you do," John admitted. "But I'm trying to put on a brave front, here, so please do the same, before you make me lose my stiff upper lip."

Sherlock gave him a watery smile. "Okay. See you in a couple of days, then," he said, pulling John into a fierce hug.

Forcing himself to let go was one of the hardest things Sherlock had ever had to do. With one last squeeze, and a final "I love you," he released his boyfriend and turned away. He couldn't bear to watch John walk down the stairs. He blinked against the sudden wetness in his eyes, reminding himself that John would be coming back to him soon.

…

As it turned out, Sherlock barely had time to focus on how much he missed John in the whirlwind of the next couple of days. The case he was on quickly ratcheted up from a seven to a nine, and he was wholly engrossed in his investigation. After two and a half days without sleep, having finally solved it, he returned to Baker Street, took a quick shower, and collapsed into bed, dead to the world.

Sherlock awoke to find John wrapped tightly around his back. Turning in his boyfriend's embrace, Sherlock gazed into John's sleepy, affectionate eyes. "You're home."

"Yes."

"Let's never spend that long apart again."

"I've been thinking about that," John said, expression serious. "About how I don't want to be apart. About how I want us to be together, always. And I know that, in some ways, we've only been a couple for a few months. But in other ways, we've been in this relationship for seven years… And you know I'll never pressure you into anything, and I'm perfectly content with the way things are between us, but I was just wondering if maybe, someday… you'd consider marrying me?"

"Yes."

"As simple as that?"

"Yes."

 **End Notes:** You know I'll never pressure you into anything, and I'm perfectly content with the way things are between us, but I was just wondering if maybe, someday… you'd consider writing me a review? ;)


	16. One More First Time

**Chapter 16 — One More First Time**

They started out slowly, peeling each other's clothes off in between kisses, running hands over each newly exposed bit of skin, getting reacquainted. By the time they were naked, Sherlock had worked up the courage to say the words that had been rolling around in his mind. "I want you inside me."

John froze, staring at him with an almost comical mixture of surprise and desire. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I've been thinking about it a lot lately, and I know that this is one more first time I'm ready to share with you."

John brought up a hand to cup Sherlock's cheek. "Okay. But you know that if there's anything you're not enjoying, you just tell me, and we'll stop. Right?"

"I know. And that's why I feel safe enough to try this."

John looked concerned at his choice of words. "Is this something you're wanting to try for my sake, because - "

Sherlock cut him off. "No. Not at all." Then he laughed. "I mean, I hope you'll enjoy it too, obviously. But it's not _just_ for your sake. It's something I really want to experience with you."

John brought their lips together, and Sherlock was touched by the tenderness of his kiss. Wrapping his fingers in the soft hair at the nape of John's neck, Sherlock pulled his boyfriend — no, his _fiancé_ — closer, deepening their kiss from sweet to passionate.

Eventually, John began kissing his way down Sherlock's neck, pausing to tongue at the hollow of his throat before continuing on to his chest. As John's lips found his nipple, Sherlock arched up to meet him. Each flick of John's tongue sent sparks shooting through him.

Sherlock moaned as John nibbled teasingly down to his navel, licking inside before sliding lower. When his fiancé's mouth closed around his cock, Sherlock's hips bucked up reflexively. John anchored him with a steadying hand.

All too soon, John was pulling away. Sherlock whimpered slightly at the loss of contact. John smiled up at him. "Can I get you to turn over?"

Sherlock nodded, rolling onto his stomach. He felt John's hands on his arse, followed by a string of light kisses. Sherlock wriggled a little as John spread his cheeks apart, feeling exposed. He jerked suddenly as something warm and wet slid up his crack.

"Oh my god! What are you doing?!"

"I'm tasting you."

"You're _what?!_ "

"Tasting you. Can I do it again?"

"Um… Okay."

Sherlock tried to hold still, but it was impossible with John licking at him, first experimentally, and then with greater purpose. Sherlock squirmed on the bed as John's tongue began probing more deeply. His hips couldn't seem to figure out what they wanted – first grinding his cock down against the mattress, then thrusting his arse back against his fiancé's tongue.

"Okay, okay, you've gotta stop," Sherlock gasped out. "You've gotta stop or you're gonna make me come."

John pulled away slightly, giving Sherlock one last kiss on each cheek. "Okay, roll back over."

Sherlock did so, having a little difficulty getting his limbs to cooperate. John grabbed a pillow and wedged it beneath his hips before reaching for the lube.

"Is this okay?"

Sherlock nodded, unable to find his voice. The sight of John slicking up his fingers gave him a strange, swooping sensation in his stomach. He reached for his fiancé's free hand, interlacing their fingers. John gave him a reassuring squeeze.

"I think you're really going to love this. God knows I always do. But if anything doesn't feel good to you, just let me know, okay?"

Sherlock nodded again, returning the pressure of John's hand. He sucked in a sharp breath as John gently pushed a finger inside him. It was an odd sensation, and he couldn't quite tell whether he liked it or not.

After sliding his finger in and out a couple of times, John asked, "Is it okay if I try two?"

"Yeah."

Sherlock gasped as John pushed back in with two fingers, muscles contracting involuntarily at the unfamiliar stretch. He was about to ask his fiancé to hold still for a moment to let him adjust, when John crooked his fingers up and made him lose the power of speech.

"Hnnngggghhhh…"

John grinned at him, pressing his fingers in more deeply, dragging them over Sherlock's prostate, making him cry out as his body convulsed. The intensity was both too much and not enough, leaving Sherlock begging an incoherent chant of _please, please, John, please_ …

John stilled his fingers, stretching forward to kiss at Sherlock's open mouth. "Shhh, love, it's okay. I've got you. Just tell me what you need."

"God, I want you to fuck me."

John's pupils dilated, and Sherlock could feel his fiancé's cock twitch where it lay pressed against his hip. "I'd love to, but I feel like you're still really tight, and I don't want to hurt you."

"Well, then, hurry up and stretch me out, because I can't wait much longer."

John gave him one last, lingering kiss, before moving back down between his legs. Sherlock let out a small noise of protest as John removed his fingers to coat them with more lube.

When John pushed back in with three fingers, Sherlock bit down hard on his own lip, afraid that his fiancé would stop if he allowed any sound of pain to escape. The stretch was intense, but as John's mouth sank down around his cock, Sherlock could feel his body yielding, gradually accepting his fiancé's fingers, then welcoming them deeper.

It wasn't long before Sherlock could feel a familiar tension building within him. He tugged at John's hair. "Stop," he panted. "I don't want to come until you're inside me."

John looked up at him from beneath his eyelashes. "Are you ready?"

"Oh, god, yes."

Sherlock winced a little as his fiancé pulled his fingers free, and John gave him an apologetic smile. "Sorry, love. I always hate that part, too," he murmured, reaching for a condom.

Sherlock held out a hand to stop him. "Could you maybe not use that? We've both been tested, and I just really want to feel you…"

John hesitated for a second, then tossed the condom aside and grabbed the bottle of lube instead. He squeezed out a dollop into his hand, thoroughly coating his cock, and then stroking his slippery hand along the length of Sherlock's cock, as well, swiping his thumb teasingly over the head.

Sherlock was too far gone to feel embarrassed about the needy sound he let out. He watched impatiently as John withdrew his hand and used it to line himself up with Sherlock's entrance. They locked eyes as John slowly pushed inside.

Sherlock's breath puffed out in short, sharp bursts. John's cock was just so much _more_ than his fingers – the size, the heat, the intimacy was overwhelming. It wasn't until John asked, "Sweetheart, are you crying?" that Sherlock became aware of the tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes.

Smiling up into John's worried face, Sherlock answered, "No. I promise. I just love you so much, I guess it's spilling out."

"God, I love you too."

John leaned down for a kiss, and Sherlock lifted his head to meet him, suddenly hungry for his fiancé's lips. Wrapping both arms and legs tightly around John's body, Sherlock pulled him even closer, erasing all boundaries between them.

An endless time later (or maybe it had only been a few minutes) Sherlock felt John laughing against his mouth. Pulling away slightly, John grinned down at him. "This feels really amazing, but do you think you could loosen your grip a little so that I could move?"

With one last kiss, Sherlock dropped his head down on the pillow, relaxing his hold to allow John to slide partway out before sinking back in. He moaned as John adjusted the angle, finding his prostate. Soon John was rocking his hips with a steady rhythm, and Sherlock could feel himself falling apart. The pleasure was so deep, he didn't know how he could bear it.

As John continued thrusting into him, Sherlock lost all voluntary control of his body. He lay writhing helplessly on the bed, arse clenching, cock twitching, breath coming in ragged gasps, low, animal noises being dragged from somewhere deep in his chest. It was terrifying and glorious and he never wanted it to end.

Sherlock could feel himself unraveling, releasing everything to which he'd ever clung. Every tightness within him was softening, dissolving, until his whole being was laid bare and open. And John was there, filling him and surrounding him.

John was everything.

Everything was love.

 **End Notes:** I had intended for this to be the final chapter, but I've decided to add a brief epilogue, which I will post on Saturday.


	17. What Means the Most to Me

**Epilogue — What Means the Most to Me**

Sherlock lay in John's arms, utterly content. He saw all the love he felt mirrored in his husband's eyes. His voice was soft but steady as he spoke what was in his heart.

"In the forty years since we first met, we've been flatmates and partners, boyfriends and husbands. We've lost our virginity together in more ways than I can count. And each time, I felt like we couldn't possibly get any closer – until the next time, when we did. But through all of that, and everything that's to come, do you know what means the most to me?"

"That we're still best friends?"

"That we're still best friends."

 _The End_

 **End Notes:**

 _Dearest Readers,_

 _Do you know what means the most to me as a writer? Your reviews and fic recs. If you've enjoyed this story (and I sincerely hope that you have) please take a moment to let me know. And if you have friends or followers who might like to read this, please recommend it to them. Thank you!_ _ **:)**_

 _P.S. Now that this story is over, I'm ready to start posting my new Johnlock fic, Divinest Sense. Here's the summary:_

John has been sectioned — deemed to be a danger to himself and others — and is facing six months in an experimental psychiatric treatment facility. After his recent drug overdose, Sherlock is being shipped off by his brother to live amongst the mad, as though this will somehow improve his mental health. What will happen when these two damaged men meet under the least auspicious of circumstances?

Hint: You can expect some humorous misunderstandings, burgeoning attraction, coded clues that the reader is invited to try to decipher, eventual explicit sex, and altogether more fluff than one might imagine, given the rather dark premise of this story.

 _Please check it out at_ fanfiction dot net /s/ 11910771/1/Divinest-Sense _:)_


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